They left the Memory Forge before dawn.
Elira's second mark still glowed faintly, twin rings of flame etched into her skin. She hadn't spoken much since the vision—her mind was a storm of faces, battles, and truths too heavy to name.
Kael led them through a narrow canyon, the walls blackened by old fire. "We're close to the borderlands," he said. "Beyond that, the Order won't follow. But Malric will."
Elira's voice was quiet. "He knew I'd come."
Kael nodded. "He's been waiting. The crowns are drawn to each other. And now that you've awakened yours…"
A sudden gust of wind cut him off. The canyon darkened. Shadows spilled across the rocks like ink.
Malric stepped from the gloom, his crown pulsing with cold light. "You've seen the truth," he said. "Now choose your side."
Elira stood her ground. "I choose mine."
Malric's eyes narrowed. "You think fire makes you strong? It makes you reckless. It burns everything it touches."
Kael drew his blade. "And shadow rots everything it hides."
Malric raised a hand. The ground trembled. From the canyon walls, figures emerged cloaked in black, eyes hollow. His followers.
Elira reached for the crown in her satchel. It flared to life, flames swirling around her fingers.
"I'm not afraid of you," she said.
Malric smiled. "You should be. Because the war begins now."